My Scars Remind Me That The Past Is Real
by letmefallasleep
Summary: Bobby didn't get sick often, and for that, Evelyn was grateful. Because when her oldest son did get sick, she had to send her youngest boys away until Bobby's fever broke. The problem was, Bobby hallucinated. And his hallucinations were the things of nightmares...


Yes, yes, I know. I'm a terrible person for writing this while I've got so many other stories in progress. Luckily, this is a one shot. Also, for anybody reading 'No Easy Way To Be Free' (Formerly I'm Not Okay), I'm working on the newest chapter, which will involve the deleting of the last two. So... Yeah. Be aware that I haven't dropped it, I'm just rethinking my ideas lol. Anyways... This is (for the moment) a one-shot. Maybe later I'll do something more with it... But maybe not lol.

Warnings: Semi-graphic child abuse, mention of torture, and language

* * *

Bobby didn't get sick often, and for that, Evelyn was grateful. Because when her oldest son did get sick, she had to send her youngest boys away until Bobby's fever broke.

The problem was, Bobby hallucinated. And his hallucinations were the things of nightmares.

This latest round was no different. It'd been two years since twenty-one year old Bobby had last gotten sick. Back then, he'd been searching the streets for a drunken Angel until five in the morning, in the cold Detroit winter.

This time, it had been for eleven year old Jack. Somewhere, during the boys' day, the youngest Mercer had lost the locket he always wore around his neck, the one with the pictures of his dead mother. Jack had been heartbroken... So Bobby had spent the better part of twenty two hours tracking it down.

Evelyn sighed as the thermometer beeped. She sighed as she reached over, and pulled it out of Bobby's mouth, running her other hand across Bobby's burning forehead.

103.7. Shit.

Bobby's whole face contorted, as another set of spasms set in. These had nothing to do with the fever itself. These were a part of the hallucinations it brought on.

"Shhh... It's alright, baby," She murmured, setting a cool washcloth on his head. "You're safe now, Bobby."

She knew it was useless. The only thing she could do during these episodes was grit her teeth, and try to keep him from hurting himself. Not exactly an easy task, even with Bobby being unconscious.

"Ma."

Evelyn jumped at the deep voice. "Angel? What're you doing here?" She asked, spinning around. "I thought I sent you to Jeremiah's."

Eighteen year old Angel shrugged as he sat down on the bed across from Bobby's. "Figured you could use some help," He said casually, his eyes glued to his oldest brother's. "Don't worry; I dropped Jackie off at Jerry's. He'll keep an eye on him."

"Angel, I don't want you to be here," Evelyn said softly. "This isn't your responsibility."

"Ma… Would Bobby leave if it was me sick?"

"Angel, this is –damn," She swore, as Bobby started flailing, his arms and legs thrashing about wildly.

"Get off me! Don't fucking touch me!" Bobby cursed, his eyes blood shot.

"Angel, hold his legs," Evelyn commanded, as she pinned Bobby's arms to the bed.

An animalistic scream tore out of Bobby's throat, as he struggled against the arms holding him down.

Evelyn draped herself over his arms and chest, whispering soothingly in his ears.

"Shhh… It's okay, Bobby. You're safe now. It's alright," She said softly, knowing it was useless.

As Bobby continued to thrash around the bed, Evelyn was struck again by the feeling of utter helplessness. She knew that in Bobby's delusional state, he couldn't hear her platitudes. Her comforting words were falling on deaf ears. The only thing she could do was bear through the darkness with him, and be there when the fever broke.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Bobby stopped, and slowly his body relaxed back onto the bed. Sighing, Evelyn pulled back, resuming her seat in the chair, to see that Angel had also untangled himself from Bobby's legs, and was now leaning on the bottom of the bed, his large hands clenched in fists.

Confused, Evelyn followed his gaze back up to her oldest son, and seen what had set Angel on edge. During the struggle, the thin sheet covering Bobby had gotten tousled up around his feet, revealing his scarred and torn body, clad only in his boxers.

Evelyn herself felt a little queasy looking at the scars, even though she'd seen them before. The long thin lines that ran the entire length of his torso, and trailed around the sides of his ribcage, where Evelyn knew they continued onto his back. The large iron-shaped burn scar on his clavicle. And all the smaller ones that littered his entire body.

Her oldest son's body was a roadmap of pain. A long, torturous journey that defined the years of abuse, neglect, and degradation Bobby had gone through.

Evelyn glanced back at Angel. This was the first time the younger boy had seen his older brother without the layers of clothing that Bobby always wore. Evelyn couldn't remember a time when Bobby wasn't wearing clothing that covered his entire body. And for Angel, who looked up to Bobby like a hero, or even a father figure, the first glance must have been a shock.

"Angel… You know bad things happened to all of you before you came to me," She said softly, reaching her hand out, and setting it on his.

The large young man forced a sad smile to his face. "I know, ma. I've seen Bobby's scars before. Doesn't make it any less… Any less…"

"Disturbing?" Evelyn supplied gently.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'Fuckin' awful'," He said with a shrug, "But yeah, that works too."

Evelyn stared down at Bobby's now-peaceful form. "I suppose it doesn't surprise me that you managed to see them," She said after a few moments. "You two shared a room for almost two years."

Angel chuckled a bit, as he sat down on the foot of the bed. "Actually… It wasn't until about six months after I got here. You know Bobby; if he didn't want me to see 'em, I never wouldda saw 'em, ma."

Even though she didn't understand, Evelyn nodded, before turning her gaze back to Bobby. "You know… after a while, you took to him like a duck to water," She said with a chuckle. "You became his shadow."

Angel grimaced good-naturedly. "C'mon, ma. I prefer to think of it somethin' more manly like. You know… Like his right hand man."

Evelyn laughed. "I suppose you're right, dear," She said, shaking her head to try and hide her smile.

It was true. After a few months, the then fourteen year old Angel had attached himself to his oldest brother with a vengeance; wherever Bobby went, Angel was hot on his trail. Bobby had grumbled of course, but he always made sure to let Angel know when he was leaving, so the teenager could follow.

She frowned a little. Times had changed though. It had went from Bobby looking out for Angel, to the two young men watching each other's back. Evelyn had heard stories of what happened to the unfortunate souls who tried mugging her sons, or bullying them. It was a mistake people usually only made once… If they were lucky.

"You know… I know we all… We all went through hell," Angel said woodenly, carefully avoiding looking at his mother. "But uh… I mean, we all have our scars –"He glanced down at his hands, and Evelyn knew he was thinking about the neat round circles in the center of his own palms " –but… but not like that. I mean… Like with… With my ma… My real mom… She… I ended up with my fair share of scars but not… She didn't scar me up on purpose. It just kinda… happened, you know? But with Bobby… There's no way that… that whoever did that to him did it on accident. It was… somebody fucked him up like that. They knew what they were doin'. An' they did it anyway."

Evelyn nodded. "I know. But something you have to understand, Angel… What happened to Bobby doesn't negate what happened to you, or Jeremiah, or Jack."

Angel smiled. "Yeah, I know, ma. Bobby hammered that into my head. That's why he showed me his scars. "

* * *

Bobby glanced up, as fourteen year old Angel stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"I hate him!" The younger boy seethed, pacing the room. "Little bitch."

Bobby rolled over onto his side, and raised an eyebrow at his youngest brother. "Somebody givin' you problems, Angie?" He asked, a dark look in his eyes.

Angel glared at the hated nickname, but plopped down on his bed across from Bobby's. "No. Jerry."

Instantly, Angel realized he'd made some sort of mistake, as Bobby swung his feet off the bed, and sat up.

"You listen to me, and you listen good," Bobby said, his voice low and dangerous. "That's your brother. You call him what you want, but you _do not_ hate him. We're a fuckin' family, kid. You get pissed at 'em, but you never hate 'em. Do you understand me?"

Angel glowered. "But he ain't really family, Bobby! He ain't like us!"

Bobby was up, and standing in front of him so quickly, Angel couldn't even follow. Instinct sent him scrambling across the bed, stopping only when his back collided harshly with the wall.

"I won't tell you again, Angel. I don't wanna ever hear you say anythin' like that again. Do you understand me?"

Without thinking, Angel nodded quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when Bobby went back to his own bed.

"Now just what the hell do you mean that he ain't like us?" Bobby asked, his voice only slightly less angry.

"He ain't… I mean…" Angel fumbled for a few minutes, before bursting, "He ain't got any scars. How the hell bad could it have been for him if he ain't got no scars?"

Bobby smiled thinly. "You sure he's scar-free, Angie?"

"He ain't got none visible," Angel grumbled.

Bobby pursed his lips, nodding. "Alright. Tell me, Angie: how many scars you got? Just those ones on your hands?"

Instantly, Angel's hackles went up. "No, although I think bein' fuckin' _crucified_ is enough," He seethed. "But I got more."

"A'ight. Tell me," Bobby ordered.

Angel squirmed uncomfortably. "Two on my back, the one on my arm, and the ones on my feet."

Bobby nodded again. "A'ight, fair enough. You had a tough time. And Jerry don't have any scars that you can see, so he ain't had it as bad as you. You win the shit sweepstakes, right?"

Angel nodded unsurely, not liking Bobby's tone.

"So Jerry doesn't belong, because he didn't have it 'that bad'," Bobby said, making air quotations with his fingers. " 'Cause he didn't have it as bad as you. So tell me, Angel… How do _you_ fit in?"

Bobby's finger went to the bottom of his long sleeve shirt, and slowly pulled it up over his head.

Angel gasped, as Bobby's torso came into view.

Bobby's moves and his voice were casually deceptive, as he pointed to the top of his chest. "Know what this is, Angie? This is where my cracked out grandma pinned me down, and set a hot clothes iron on me. Left it there for ten minutes, 'fore she took it off. All these ones here," He said, pointing to the long, thin scars that reminded Angel of snakes. "These are from my old man. Liked to chain me to a post in the backyard, and go at me with a stock whip."

_Bobby bit back a cry as the whip cracked, a fraction of a second before hitting his back. He felt the flesh tear beneath his father's expertise, the blood coming almost instantly, dripping down beneath his thin jeans. Like a flash of fire, red hot heat beat out the pain from the cut for a few seconds, before the torn muscles and flesh made themselves known._

"_Little shit," Came the muttering of his father, right before the whip cracked again. This time, Bobby couldn't hold back his yelp, feeling the hit land over the previous cut._

"See, normally, whips don't cut into the skin, they just leave a nasty welt. But my old man's whip had a Kevlar tip. Sliced clear through the skin. Used to leave me hangin' out there for hours after he finished. Let 'em get good an' infected 'fore he'd lemme down."

"_Please… Please," Bobby sobbed quietly. "I'm… I'm sorry… sorry, sir… Please."_

_His arms felt like they were going to tear out of their sockets. How long had it been since his father had left him alone? How long had he been shackled to the wooden pole, arms held so far above his head, that his toes barely touched the ground? He felt like he knew every line, knot, and notch on the pole, since he'd been chained facing the damn thing._

_He'd given up on stoic a while ago, shortly after it had begun to rain. The pain had reduced him to a sniveling mess, sobbing and pleading to be let down._

_Nobody answered his pleas. _

"Oh, these ones? These are electrical burns. See, interestin' little fact, if you take some sort of… electrical device… Say a lamp? Cut the wires, get rid of the lamp… Keep it plugged in… stick it a piece of bare skin. Gives you a hell of a shock… and burns its way into the skin. Two different pain types, one source."

_Bobby couldn't even find the breath to scream. The current coursing through his body, feeling like his entire body was on fire, tingling from the hairs on his head, straight down to his toes. It was an odd sort of pain, almost not pain… But the pain above his left hip kept him from worrying too much about the electric current. The burning sensation as the wires burned their way into his flesh, working its way to his insides overrode any logical thought._

"_Might wanna breath, boy. Otherwise you're gonna have a hell of a problem," Came the calm voice of his father, as the older man dug the wire in a little deeper._

_Bobby felt one of his teeth crack, and then it all went black._

" My old man was a… multitasker, you could say," Bobby said with a cold smile. "I know you know what these ones are. You got a cigar burn yourself. My granddad liked to put his out on me. Guess he figured that was cheaper than buyin' an ashtray, huh?"

_Bobby gritted his teeth, as the scent of a cherry cigar met with the smell of burning flesh. Somehow, the pain seemed to radiate away from where his grandfather was grinding the cigar out, to his entire thigh._

_His grandfather never spoke. Bobby watched the clock, struggling to keep the tears forming in his eyes from obscuring his view. Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Finally, his grandfather pulled the cigar out of his skin, and Bobby felt his skin tearing with the cigar._

_He took a few more minutes to regain his composure, before standing up, and moving away from the couch he'd been sitting on._

_Granddad didn't like Bobby hanging around after his cigars were out. _

Bobby slowly pulled his shirt back over his head, before sitting back down on his bed. "I could keep going. My back, down my legs… even on my feet, Angie. So maybe… _you_ don't belong," He finished quietly.

"Bobby… I'm… I'm sorry, man, I didn't…" Angel trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Didn't know? Yeah, that's right, shithead. You didn't know, and you _still_ don't know. Jus' like I don't know everything you went through. Jus' like you don't know what Jerry went through. Jus' 'cause he didn't get crucified don't mean he don't belong. Jus' like 'cause you didn't get chained to a post and whipped for hours, left out in the cold and rain, don't mean you don't belong. We all got our pasts, Angel. Jus' 'cause you think Jerry don't have scars –an' you're wrong, by the way –doesn't mean he don't belong. Not everything leaves scars, Angie. You remember that."

With that, Bobby laid down, rolling over.

And Angel knew that he'd made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

* * *

Evelyn frowned. "I'm surprised he was that rough with you," She said thoughtfully.

Angel chuckled, moving back to sit against the wall, his feet hanging off the edge of the twin bed. "I was bein' a little shit, ma. I deserved a lot worse than he gave me."

"That's not fair, Angel. You were a young boy. A young boy who was barely seven months out of the hospital, after being crucified."

Angel shook his head. "Nah, see, ma, that's just it. I thought… I thought what happened to me gave me the right the cry about what happened. Bobby jus'… showed me how selfish I was bein'. Although to be fair, pretty sure bein' crucified makes me unique at least," He said with a wry grin.

Evelyn shook her head, a rueful smile on her face. "Sometimes, I'm not sure if I'm relieved or worried that you boys can joke about things like that."

Angel shrugged. "Bobby used to tell me we all had two choices: laugh about it, or curl up in a ball, and go insane. Then he said, he knew I wouldn't curl up. Survivin' my ma… He knew if I hadn't gone insane yet, I wouldn't."

Evelyn sighed, as she reached over, and set her hand on top of one of Angel's. "You know… You boys –all of you, Jack, Jeremiah, Bobby, and you –are some of the strongest people I know, Angel. Not many people could've went through what you boys went through, and survived. I'm proud of all you boys," She finished softly.

Angel gave her a gentle smile. "I know, ma. But none of us would be here if it wasn't for you. We'd be dead, whether it was suicide by cop, O.D.'ing, a bad foster home… We never wouldda made it without you."

Evelyn began to speak, when a low moan from Bobby cut her off. Angel moved to hold his brother down again, but Evelyn shook her head.

"Not this time, Angel," She said quietly, as Bobby's moans became louder.

"Please… please, no… I'll be… I'll be good, I… I promise," He said feverishly, his head rocking back and forth. "Please… please stop."

Angel drew back a little from the bed, and Evelyn looked at him curiously.

"Angel?"

Angel made several attempts at swallowing, before speaking. "I uh… I guess I never really thought about… Well, Bobby being…"

Evelyn smiled sadly, knowing Angel was desperately searching for a word other than 'weak'. "Angel… Bobby was a child once. Just like you, or Jack, or Jeremiah. A time when he wasn't 'super human'," She said, her voice joking yet serious. "When he was just a scared little boy, who couldn't figure out why his family was hurting him. Say what you want, but at one time, all of you boys were just scared kids, hoping if you… if you begged enough, or asked nicely enough, or… did what they wanted… they'd stop hurting you. They'd leave you alone."

Angel grunted as he moved to sit back down on his own bed across the room. "They never do though, right?" He asked bitterly, defiantly meeting Evelyn's gaze.

Evelyn sighed. "You'd know better than me, Angel," She said quietly. "You'd know better than me."


End file.
